


The road we walk

by archipelag



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 23:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archipelag/pseuds/archipelag
Summary: "My head" she finally says, laying down on Sansa's bed "it hurts and the sky seems to spin around so fast. I see clouds and I see shapes in them and I think of Daenys and I keep - I keep thinking." She licks her lips like one in fever would, on their dying bed. "There is no other road for me but this. Not anymore."A short reflection on Sansa, Daenerys and tragic fate.





	The road we walk

Sansa takes the papers in her hands, seals them, puts them away for the time being. Looking out of the window, she grabs for a cup of ale - they don't have any wine after the Boltons emptied the cellars - and takes slow sips, watching the snow fall and cover the world with its icy fingers. It won't stop for nothing, she realises - a slow promise of their painful demise looming over her head. She can't bring herself to care much anymore.

She drinks to that until her cup is empty and her head dizzy. Alcohol doesn't freeze, she remembers from her Septa's teaching on housekeeping. Oddly fitting, for a Stark like she. Her veins shall run hot no matter the cold. Winter is a welcome embrace for once, the only mother she has left.

A knock on the door throws her off-balance because it's late, because she's not been expecting visitors. She's in no condition to welcome them, for when everybody is drinking themselves to their unavoidable deaths, Lady of Winterfell should remain sound and calm.

"What is it?" She says, hoping the tone of her voice will scare away all friends and not-quite-friends. Allies? Is that what you call them these days?

She groans and gets up to answer the door on the second knock. Daenerys is standing there in her sleeping gown, silver hair loose. She looks slightly confused and Sansa has to squint to see if she's not had too much ale herself. In the end, she's unable to make such a diagnosis. 

Sansa knows she looks as surprised as she looks composed, a funny set to mix together. Moving out of the doorframe, she lets Daenerys stomp into her chambers, careful, careful. The woman makes a funny face, as if she smelled something, like you do when you walk into an animal's den. It has an earthy quality to it, not entirely unpleasant, but somehow dangerous if you don't have anything sharp on you - and Daenerys is as bare as it gets. Sansa guesses she simply couldn't fit her dragons in there and that thought makes her laugh out loud.

Daenerys doesn't seem to notice, making herself at home on Sansa's bed. Sansa's parents bed, and all those lords and ladies before them. Her hands twist into one another on her stomach and her eyes fall down. Sansa can sense she's feeling shy but can't quite put her finger on the reason because usually Daenerys lacks all but confidence. But then again - just look how far it got her. 

"Your grace?" Sansa asks because there isn't much else to say, their relationship being a fresh one yet already spoiled. She takes another bottle of ale from under her bed where she keeps them and pours a generous amount into the cup. 

Daenerys takes it with no complaint, but only takes a sip before putting it away. She's not drunk - Sansa's starting to think. Brilliant purple eyes find her blue ones and her queen coughs in a manner suggesting it's a mere figure of speech.

"My head" she finally says, laying down on Sansa's bed "it hurts and the sky seems to spin around so fast. I see clouds and I see shapes in them and I think of Daenys and I keep - I keep thinking." She licks her lips like one in fever would, on their dying bed. "There is no other road for me but this. Not anymore." A tear rolls down her cheek. 

Sansa leans on the windowsill, and with the world still so blurry, Daenerys' sobriety becomes an open question. She wants no answers. She doesn't want anything. She wants to fall asleep and not wake up until spring has come. 

At loss of words, she falls down next to Daenerys and sleep finds her almost instantly. The other woman is not there when she wakes with a headache, a not so surprising turn of events.

Edd and Tormund's arrival quickly sets the tone for the next day. They bring sad news of the world ending come morning. In spite of all, Sansa finds herself in a miserable determination to live. At the expense of anyone, everyone.

She sees Daenerys only once that day. The war council is a pitiful affair, dead men and their maps. Purple eyes glance at her from time to time, careful, carful. Purple - Sansa has to remind herself - not blue. Not yet.

 

*

 

Some of them live. A lot of them die - it's still undeniably better than anyone has expected it to be. Sansa takes a longing look at her cup, full to the brim with the best they've got. She hands it over to Jon. He can barely stand by himself at this point, and consequently has little left to lose. 

She doesn't feel euphoric - not happy even. She's just tired instead, and somehow old. She might just stop eating and wither away. Or maybe drink herself to death, drown in an oil-infused bath. 

Nobody around notices, too busy taking each other to bed. Sansa supposes she could go and find somebody warm to hold as well - but she won't. There are times when she thinks she'll never want to and it makes her eyes well up with bitter tears. Even now she can't have something so simple, so primal.

Daenerys too is sitting there all forgotten and alone, she notices. Their eyes meet and the woman smiles a smile that doesn't reach her eyes in any way. Sansa tries to smile back. 

There are times when she thinks she'll never be able to, not truly. But she does try.

 

*

 

The northmen are marching out of the gates, unaware of Sansa's fury over them. For them.

She turns around at the sound of steps somewhere behind her. Silver and violet is what catches her attention first. But Daenerys isn't even looking at her, gazing somewhere far into the horizon instead. She purses her lips as one of the dragons screeches painfully. 

"I guess it's time to say farewell." Sansa tries, wanting to put an end to this silence, to get this over with. Wanting something to happen, wanting something - something.

"It is." Replies Daenerys, her gaze falling on Sansa. "Strange." She says after a minute of silence. "Everything is falling out of my hands, but I feel... serene."

Sansa nods, somehow knowing exactly what she had in mind.

"And so our ways part." Says Daenerys once it becomes obvious she's not going to get a response. "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, Lady Sansa."

Sansa turns her head away, not wanting to see her go. Instead, she watches her army head South. On some level she's marching along with them, a dark cold road they all continue to walk - tempting despite its destination.

 

*

Sansa is walking through Kings Landing, ashes falling on her hair like snow - the last of Daenerys she'll ever see. For some reason, it seems a fitting ending. Perhaps, the only one they could have ever hoped for. 

Seeing the city - one she grew to hate so much - in ruins almost brings her a wicked kind of joy. She closes her eyes and, at once, painful moans begin to fill her ears. She forces them open. Almost, she decides, and marches on.


End file.
